Final Night In the Canyon

 Dinner completed, we were all  still a bit fatigued after our 14 mile trek down  and back from the depths of the Canyon. As I began stowing away our dinner gear  for the night, I speculated about Scott's plans for Mistress.  Would  he really explore Mistress's  bondage kink in their final night together? 

It didn't take long to find out.  As I washed our dinner plates and cups, Scott was digging into his back pack. He came back to the picnic table brandishing a length of belt like fabric webbing about 5 feet long.  Apparently he subscribed to that old Boy Scout motto: "Be Prepared". 

"This should do," he commented, looking at Mistress, who  remained seated at the table, still nursing her tea.  Her expression reflected equal parts uncertainty and curiosity with just a smidgeon of  anxiety.

"Hands," Scott directed.  

"Really? Here?" she asked looking around the camp site.  While the grounds were not as crowded as they had been Saturday night, there were still some other campers in the distance, maybe 50 yards or so away. 

"Oh, don't worry.  It's gotten dark and I won't be parading you around for all to see. We can certainly keep things private. At least for tonite."

A promise of a reunion?

Mistress glanced at me, still uncertain.  After all she could simply say "No".  Would she?

"Are we really doing this in front of the Slave?"

"Seems it's nothing he hasn't seen before, Mistress," that added with a slight touch of snark. "The only thing different from your 'switch days' is that I'll be the one in charge tonight. I'm sure Mick doesn't mind. Do you Mick?"

At this point, my own  level of arousal was on the rise at the thought of witnessing Scott take charge of my Mistress. 

"No. . . Sir. Who am I to object?"

"Exactly," he responded with a bit of a smirk.  Mistress shot a dirty look at me, as if she expected me to be the Night in Shining Armor, coming to her defense.  But I knew her well enough to judge her an enthusiastic participant in whatever mischief was to come.  She was already squirming with anticipation as she made a show of finishing her tea.

"Hands," Scott repeated again a bit more forcefully, holding up the belt.

Mistress slowly stood in front of him, finally extending her wrists in front of her. Apparently her answer would not be "No."

Scott just shook his head, signaling with a twrling finger that Mistress should turn her back to him.  He wasn't fooling around.

She hesitated, then complied. Slowly spinning around, glancing at me. By now it was almost dark, so it was hard to see her blush of arousal. But I could almost hear her racing heart beat. 

Scott gathered her hands behind her, crossed her wrists, then wound the fabric strap round them, first vertically, then horizontally, tying it off with a knot that tightened all of the strands in a way that produced a slight gasp and shudder from Mistress.  

"Too tight?"

Mistress just shook her head, indicating a "no."

She was twisting her wrists, testing her bonds. They held tight.

"Haven't done this in a while", Scott remarked to me.  "What do you think, Mick, does it look like that will hold?"

"Seems a good job," was all I could muster, still in a bit of erotic shock seeing my wife so efficiently brought under such swift control by another man.

"Now it's your turn to help, slave. I'd like you to get down there, take off her hiking boots, and pull down her jeans.  Around the ankles will do for now."

Mistress just looked at both of us with that "really?" look again. But her unsuccessful struggles with her bindings left her knowing her opportunity to resist had passed.

I knelt at her feet, a familiar place for me, and began unlacing her boots.  She co-operated to the extent of sitting back down in the picnic table bench, lifting each foot as I worked off those boots.  Her thick hiking sox remained to keep her toes toasty as the temperature dropped.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me, Slave?"

"Just following orders, Mistress", giving us both a quiet laugh.

Next I unbuttoned her jeans, and she lifted her butt slightly, aiding my effort to pull them down over her firm thighs and long legs to her ankles. Apparently she had decided either that "resistance was futile" or she really did not want to resist.  I was guessing the latter. 

So there she was, hands bound behind her, jeans at her ankles further restricting her movement, her lacy forest green panties for all to see.  A fleece jacket and T shirt covered her breasts and tummy. 

"Is she turned on, Mick?"

To verify, I leaned in, nuzzling into the soft fabric of those green panties. It was hard not to miss the intoxicating aroma of Mistress in full bloom, or to feel the damp fabric with the tip of my tongue.

"Verified, Sir."

Mistress just squirmed on that bench, moaning softly from my tongue's gentle ministrations, confirming my diagnosis.

Scott leaned over, helped Mistress to her jeans hobbled feet, then sat in her place.  

"Over my lap, Mistress."

Mistress just shook her head, sensing where this was going. But Scott's strong arms soon had her by the arm, gently but firmly pulling her down with her firm bottom settled over his lap, her head dangling down, face obscured by her long dark hair. He fondled that bottom gently.

"Like the undies. Soft and sexy.  But for what I have in mind, they're in the way. Mick, how about pulling them down to her knees?"

I looked at Mistress, who shook her head, giving me that dagger tossing glare.  But she failed to order me to disregard Scott's command.  Despite her sudden vulnerability, Mistress was going with the flow, seemingly prepared to "face the music". 

I squatted down, gently took those green panties in two hands and slipped them down over her hips and  around her knees. 

"Thanks Mick. Why don't you stand over by there, indicating the end of the picnic table, where I might block the view of any of our fellow campers who might  wander by or campsite.

As Scott resumed his gentle rubbing of Mistress's exposed ass, Scott continued. "Now Molly, keep in mind  that there are other campers not far off.  Let's not make them think anything improper is going on over here. Can you keep your voice low through this ordeal, or is a gag in order."

Mistress responded in a surprisingly submissive voice. 

"I'll do my best, Sir."

"OK, let me know if you change your mind."

With that Scott used his left hand to hold Mistress's bound wrists, securing her to his lap, while his right palm began to rain a a slow but steady assault on Mistress's squirming bottom.    Started with seemingly gentle slaps, that produced squirms and giggles from his 'Victim", he slowly built up  to a firmer rhythm that had Mistress jerking, then moaning in response. Mistress was doing her best to "take her medicine", but I could tell her bottom was getting red and the pain was becoming real.  Scott must have sensed it too, because his pace slowed, then stopped. 

"I like the way you squirm," Scott told her.  I was guessing Mistress was taking some satisfaction in sensing a  hardening cock under her pelvis.

Now Scott's hand was between her thighs, sliding to her sex, fingers probing. This seemed to get Mistress's hips gyrating even more, rising up to meet her hand.  Her faux struggles to  resist Scott's gentle caress were, of course, fruitless, as he held her firmly in place on her lap.

By now it was dark, so I couldn't see what surely were glistening  juices on Scott's fingers as he held them up for me to see. 

"I think you're right Mick.  This bondage and corporal punishment thing seems to light your Mistress's fire."

Back on task, Scott spent some time with a sweet and sour approach to Mistress. Firm spanks followed by gentle but insistent fondling of those damp, clean shaven folds.  

Of course, the outcome was inevitable: Mistress ultimately exploded into a throbbing, gyrating cum that left her breathless. Hopefully our neighboring campers were not listening too closely, or were otherwise inspired by her wanton performance.

"Oh, God" was about all she could muster. She was both shaken and stirred by Scott's "punishment," her hair a disheveled mess, breath still a bit ragged from her "ordeal."

Scott helped her off the lap, and asked me to relieve Mistress of her jeans and panties. I was happy to comply, and then helped her stand, with her resting her shoulder against my shoulder for support.  Weak knee-ed  was a good description of her state. 

"Hands?" she whispered, clearly hoping for release. I looked to Scott for direction. 

"OK, but redo them in front.  We have more business to take care of in that tent."

I followed orders again, loosening Mistress from her bonds.  She rubbed her wrists briefly, but submissively co-operated as I retied her wrists, palm to palm in front. 

"Thanks, Mick.  I think I can take her from here. "

Scott took Mistress under a strong arm,  gently helping her into her tent, no doubt ready to take his "Switch Day" prize.

Mistress's good night to me included "Remember, Slave....no touching." The tone of her voice suggested that there might be a price for me to pay for my "complicity" in the night's activities.  

To Be Continued....

Happy Birthday from the Dowager Domme!

Over the years, we've made some joking references to Mistress's Mother, the "
Dowager Domme".  She's known here for her kinky shoe collection and severe dressing style, which are evocative of a "she who must be obeyed" self-image. The DD is now past 80, and still working full time.  She can also drive Mistress a little batty, because, as many controlling mother's can do, she knows all the bad buttons to push.

So I had some trepidations when Mistress called me on her way home from his weekly Saturday lunch with the DD.

"Slave, you won't believe the birthday present my mother gave me to give you! "

"Really?"

The DD doesn't usually give her seemingly useless son-in-law  a birthday gift.

Soon Mistress was home, brandishing the DD's birthday gift.  It's a braided leather lasso, no doubt some sort of antique from an exotic journey, that I had seen hanging on the wall of her den (along with some penis gourds of various impressive dimensions, that she had persuaded some New Guinea natives to sell her).

"She said she saw you admiring it when we were over for dinner a few weeks ago.....She figured it would make a great gift...."

I wonder how we can put this to something more than a decorative use?

Wonderful Movie Kink

Time for one of our occasional movie / tv reviews. Over the weekend (after Mistress's cuckold sleepover) we took some time to walk up the street to our local cinema to check out the new biopic about the creators of the Wonder Woman comic character.

Of course, Wonder Woman has a place in the psycho history of any submissive male of a certain age. As a baby boomer who came of age in the 1960's I was a comic book addict. In the stone ages before cable and the internet, a pre-teen's entertainment relied on the fantasy world created by DC and Marvel comics. And I must say I was particularly drawn to  those oft repeated scenes where some comic book villain put some "hero" into a fix involving chains or rope. Then there was Wonder Woman, with her magic lasso, who saucily made the male bad guys confess their crimes while in her tight  golden coils. Of course, it was also common for WW to find herself within the confines of some bad guy's (or girl's) bondage. It definitely got my young impressionable motor running in all sorts of kinky ways. no wonder I ended up a world renowned sex blogger!So when we saw the trailer for the new movie "Professor Marston and the Wonder Women" , it was "must see" viewing, particularly when it debuted at our local cinema. Here is a link to the trailer.

We were not disappointed. The movie chronicles the "adventures"  launched when Harvard Psychology Professor William Moulton Marston, his wife Elizabeth and their TA Olive Byrne invented the lie detector and simultaneously began a polyamorous relationship that lasted decades. Of course, messing  with a student would get you fired even in the 21st Century. The Marstons were booted from Harvard once their "deviance' was discovered. But their experiences and Marston's ground breaking theories on the role of dominance and submission led to their creation of the female comic book  character who became a lasting femdom poster girl.

The movie chronicles the efforts of the "decency" crusaders in the 50's to crack down on Wonder Woman's kinky proclivities, and Marston's subversive efforts to indoctrinate  his young readers with his theories on female dominance and male submission.  At least for this young reader, it seemed to have worked!

But was the movie hot?

Uhhh..... yeah. There are several smoldering three way scenes of the two attractive "wonder women" and the Prof cavorting in all sorts of kinky ways.  And a very hot scene of Mrs. Marston  binding Olive when dressed in a kinky costume that became the model for the comic WW. It certainly had  slave squirming in his seat.  And Mistress confessed she thought it was pretty hot too!
Rating: two nipples and one caged cock up! Don't wait until it makes Netflix.

Fiction Friday- "A Charitable Impulse"

"Jean, what's on my schedule after 11?", Julia Mulloy asked her long time assistant, voice just loud enough to be heard through the open doorway linking their adjoining offices. 

 "Well...your staff meeting at 11, then at 1pm you get arrested". 

 "Huh?" Julia stood, striding on long shapely legs towards her assistant's desk, eyebrows raised. 

 "Remember...you volunteered for this year's Children's Hospital Jail Fundraiser. You get arrested. Your staff and friends bail you out. We've been raising money for weeks. I hear you will be a very valuable prisoner." 

 "Right...wish you had reminded me. I'm not exactly dressed for the penitentiary". 

 Julia raised her arms, turning, modeling the short black skirt and form fitting creamy silk blouse that was her typical business attire. Sheer dark hose and black pumps completed the ensemble. "I had that breakfast presentation today ". ." 

 In contrast, Jean was relatively short, with frosted blond hair cut closer than the long black hair of her boss. Jean's smaller body was fit from years of tennis and running. Unmarried, she was a few years older than the young executive she had worked with since joining the company ten years earlier. She prided herself in her loyalty and discretion that made them quite a team.Up until today that is. 

 "I'm sure they were impressed", Jean commented, taking in the tall shapely body of her boss. "But no problem, I am sure your jailers will treat you well. Maybe the sexy outfit will get you time off for good behavior." 

 "So what is the incarceration drill?", Julia asked, heading back to her desk to plow through accumulated emails. Following her into her office, Jean looked over Julia's shouldrer, a smile creasing her lips . "Oh, no big deal. An officer picks you up here, takes you downtown to the Hospital's "holding cell", one of us will be there promptly to pay your bail". 

 "Well don't be late...I want to work out tonite. I have the night off for a change." 

 "Not to worry", Jean said, her smile turning into a grin as she turned her back, heading back to her office. "If only she knew" she thought to herself. 

 Julia Mulloy was a beautiful 30 something who wanted and had it all: a great career managing the foundation of a Fortune 500 company. two great kids, off this week at summer camp, a successful attentive husband, if off on some business trip tonite, and a long, well toned body to die for. Of course, she didn't get where she was in life without making a few enemies. Among her staff there were those who appreciated her talent and support, but secretly called her a bitch when she got into her demanding mode. Outside the company she had also made her share of enemies. When you had a budget of millions to spread around the City's many charities those that got were appreciative. Those that were left off the largesse list took it personal. 

 Julia's busy morning melted into early afternoon. As plates of chicken salad were cleared from the conference room table, Jean answered the buzz of a nearby phone. Looking at Julia, eyes twinkling, she said "Looks like its time for your arrest". Smiles, laughs broke out among the half dozen, mostly female members of Julia's staff.. 

 "I can't belive I let you con me into this", Julia protested, as a short slender female version of the City's finest was shown into the conference room. 

 "I'm Officer Patricia Dunn. Is Julia Mulloy here?" she said, all business. 

 Standing, Julia reached to shake the officer's hand . "Just let me freshen up and get my purse". 

 "Sorry Maa'm, where you are going the purse won't be necessary." 

 Grasping the young executives wrist, the short but surprisingly strong officer swiftly ratcheted shut the open handcuff she had concealed from Julia in her closed hand. "Wait', Julia excalimed, "You don't need to..." . 

"Just following procedures". Officer Dunn responded, twisting the cuffed wrist behind the back of the blushing executive, then clasping and cuffing the other wrist, behind her back. 

 "This is humiliating", Julia muttered, as her staff, at first surprised, laughed at their assertive boss's sudden demise at the hands of the much smaller female officer. "This is not funny", Julia said, more loudly, face red., glaring at Jean, who approached her. "Don't worry, Julia. Its all for a good cause". Jean pushed the dark hair that had tumbled over her boss's face behind her ear, attempting to sooth ruffled feathers. "Let me get your jacket". SHe placed the black, designer suit jacket over her boss's broad , muscular shoulders, hiding the cuffs from view. 

 Julia squirmed in the binding handcuffs. She thought about other times she had been cuffed. Privately. But quickly sought to suppress the thought. This was different. Humiliating. Non-consensual. But the reflections on those past encounters with binding steel made her stomach flutter. Of couse, none of them knew. "Let's get this over with" she demanded, trying to reassert control over the situation and her own slightly deviant thoughts. 

 "Just a second. I have some special orders with this arrest", Officer Dunn said, interrupting Julia's effort to reassert control.. "And those are?" Julia retorted, looking down on the officer approaching her, eyebrow raised in disdain. 

 "Apparently you are considered to be a "dangerous" prisoner. One of the contributor's has pledged more money if we take high security measures when bringing you in. 

More titters from the staff, supressed by a glare from Julia. "How much more?" 

"$5000", Jean interjected. 

  "You knew about this?", Julia demanded, turning her disdainful glare on her assistant. 

 "You know the Hospital is our No. 1 Charity this year. I've been working the phones to make you the most valuable prisoner in this year's dock.You have some special friends out there willing to pay big for your arrest and release." 

 Temporarily pacified by her assistant's apparent devotion to a good cause, Julia sheepishly looked at the officer, "OK...do your worst". Another stomach flutter , sliding a bit lower , arose from that act of submission, and her curiosity about what was to come. 

 She had not seen the leather pouch the officer had brought with her. Out came the broad leather belt, strapped around her waist, securing her wrists in back. What were the other D's rings for, Julia speculated. 

 Then the ankle shackles. Padded leather, connected by a 12 inch chain. "At least they won't run those hose", Jean said, all too perkily. 

 Finally a leather contraption that made Julia step back, only to be braced by Jean from behind. "No" was all Julia could say, shaking her head. "Sorry", officer Dunn responded, as Jean cooed her sympathetic assurances. "Just think of those Children!" Her back pressed against the conference table, Julia really had no choice but to submit as the leather mask slid over her face, covering eyes in darkness. SHe shook her head and opened her mouth in protest as the officer, or was it Jean, slid a thick leather plug into her mouth, gagging her tightly as the contraption was buckled off, behind her neck, under her long raven hair. All she could do was shake her head in frustration now, with hands and ankles restrained. No laughter now as the staff was silenced in amazement at so thorough a subjection of their normally in control boss. 

 In darkness, Julia was led by the elbow from the room, down silent hallways, presumably out the back door into the office's parking garage. She wondered which of her colleagues had witnessed her humiliating arrest. Doing the perp walk for charity now seemed no less embarrassing than the real thing. 

 Jean was still at her side, making small talk with the officer as they headed, presumably, to some waiting vehicle. Julia heard the chirp of an unlocking door , and the sound of a van door sliding back. Officer Dunn said, "I believe the orders call for one more security measure." Julia could only mumble her confusion through gagged lips. Then she was turned her back pressed against the side of the van. 

 Now Jean's voice came to her from inches away. But it seemed a different Jean, hands now pressed against Julia, one on shoulder one on hip. "Julia...you may hate me after this is over. But, knowing you, working for you as long as I have, I have decided to take that risk. Plus...we've raised lots of money for the hospital!" WIth that, Jean 's fingers slid to the waist of her boss,opening the fastener and zipper of that short black skirt. Despite squirms and muted protests, gravity took the skirt to Julia's ankles, where firm hands lifted each shackled foot to pull it away, exposing the dark pantyhose that covered Julia's muscular legs. 

  "Hmmm...no undies", the officer commented archly. "She hates panty lines", Jean responded, as if Julia was not there. Julia turned even redder, frustrated that she could not be heard through her gag, then astonished as she felt Jean, or was it the officer, fiddle with the leather belt at her waist, attaching who knows what, then spinning her around, chest now pressed firmly against the van. Hands reached between her thighs, lingering intimately, to Julia's astonishment, then pulling something through. 

  "I believe she's wet already", Jean commented to the officer, who laughed softly. Whatever had been pulled through her legs was connected to the leather belt in back, then . tightened with a jerk that brought Julia to her toes. Gasping into her gag, Julia was turned again, facing the unseen Jean. But this time Jean moved even closer, one of her thighs sliding between Julia's , pressing against an undeniably responsive cunt, making Julia breath hard, heart racing. 

 "Julia, darling. You and I have had a business like relationship all these years. But as your assistant I pick up things. Like those emails to that woman lawyer in Boston." Julia gasped. Those were private. "Or the handcuffs you used to keep buried in your briefcase". Another gasp. Mike had given her those. To use with that Boston lawyer. "Then there was that kinky bondage novel you had in your desk for so many months." Julia's head sunk. Busted. 

 "But sometimes you can be so dense. You know I like women. But you never picked up on the crush I've had for you all these years". Now Jean's fingers were sliding under Julia's silk blouse, teasing a nipple with strong polished nails. Julia's pulse raced, cunt now dripping. 

 "Well it turns out I am not the only one with a crush on you. Someone you know has decided to pay big to your favorite charity for some quality time with you today. Your schedule is clear through late tonite. When your evening is over, give me a call and tell me whether I have a job in the morning....Better yet. Stop by and give me the blow by blow. Let me soothe those aching muscles." With a final tweek at Julia's left nipple, and a final grind of thigh against molten cunt, Jean stepped away. 

 "Take her away officer", Jean said with a laugh. "But let me turn this on first". Julia jumped as she felt a vibrator, incorporated in the cunning crotch strap, come to life in close contact with her sex. Her knees nearly buckled as she took in her plight and the confession of lust she had just received from her long time assistant. In a fog mingling embarrassment with a quickening sexual agitation, she let the officer slide her into the van, where she was buckled into place, squirming in her bonds, on the van's firm bench seat. Her assistant had learned of and exploited her darkest fantasies. The effect was incendiary. But where was she headed now? 

Homework Assignment Graded as "Incomplete"

If it's Sunday at the UCTMW HDH (High Desert Hideaway) it's not MTP (Meet the Press).  It's Switch Day!

Slave has been a little too submissive recently when it comes to exercising my switch day privileges. But a "homework assignment" from the WC provided a little inspiration.  He wanted a semi-suspension - Mistress's legs up in the air, exposed for who knows what. ( I certainly had my own ideas).  But the concept was better than the execution.

On Saturday I installed some hooks in our viga beamed ceiling to implement my plan.  There was already some rope on hand in a dresser drawer.  On Sunday morning, Mistress was co-operative. I tied her arms spread to the corners of the bed. Then  I got her left leg up in the desired position.

Looks hot doesn't it?

But the problem was with the right leg.  Mistress broke that ankle more than 20 years ago. It still can get stiff and ouchy for her.  When I got her right leg up into the desired position, it became clear that her ankle had no plan to co-operate. And with all our upcoming hiking, slave decided a little kinky display was hardly worth the risk of permanent damage. I am prepared to pay the price for my "incomplete" homework assignment.

But slave wasn't giving up all together.  Mistress's leg was lowered, but then both were secured to the corners of the bed. A classic spread eagle.

I toyed with my bound prize for a while. Kissing. stroking. Teasing. Taunting. At some point her favorite power tool was deployed to take her close to the edge.  She begged her slave nicely. And of course I buckled, allowing her a cum that had her straining and bucking against her bonds.

After she caught her breath, slave took full advantage of his opportunity.

Later I texted our WC the photo above, and explained why I failed to complete his assignment. He seemed magnanimous about our failure to fulfill his vision. But in response he texted us a few pictures of his own.



Apparently he and B have a collection of toys at their disposal.  Will they be bringing some with them? It got me wondering if there would be some "consequences" for slave's failure to complete that homework assignment.

And now I just remembered something: I was supposed to paddle Mistress for her failure to respond to the WC's texts earlier this week.  Oops!  I guess I need to wait until our next Switch Day!

That would be the day before the WC and B are planning to visit us.  Mistress may have a sore bottom when (and if) they show up.

Homework Assignment?

Mistress and slave are "in training". In a few weeks we head to Africa for a trek to it's roof. So we've been putting in some more time on our feet and on our bikes this summer to get our bodies ready for what could be the biggest physical challenge of our lives.  On Monday, we were up early and out onto the mountains for what turned into about a 10 mile hike up to about 12,000 ft.  At the end of the day, our legs and feet were tender, but not as sore as they might have been last summer. So I guess that's progress.  It certainly didn't put a cramp in our daily sexual rituals, including wake-up sex and late afternoon worship.

In the meantime, our WC continues to discuss the possibility of a visit here, his wife in tow, by the end of the month.  The talk of them "topping" us both does sound intriguing. But Mistress remains open but skeptical.

"We've heard this before, slave......"

True.

The WC has had an open invitation going back to the days when he and Mistress had a rather intimate relationship, if limited to phone sex.  But he never took her up on those offers. Have things really changed?  We will see.

To stoke the fire (or the fantasy), the WC even sent us a "homework assignment", via text message to me on Monday:

"I have an assignment for you.  See if you can figure a way to tie Molly up with her legs spread wide open and up in the air. Think gynecologist examination position.  you might need more supplies. If successful text a picture. Naked of course."

Mistress raised her eyebrows at the assignment.  Whether it was curiosity or more skepticism I couldn't tell. But she clearly wasn't volunteering.  But we do have that oft unused "switch day" privilege in our contract, don't we.

I will consider the logistics and see what I can come up with on Sunday, WC.  I do like a challenge.

Slow Road Back to River City

Mistress and slave bid a final farewell to my late mother's favorite Jersey shore beach town Monday morning. Just in time for our departure the clouds lifted and the sun came out. So after some robust wake-up sex we took a leisurely bike ride and enjoyed omlets at a seedy beach front joint celebrating the last day of their season with complementary mamosas. A final walk on the beach was a good way to say good-bye to the place I spent many summers as a child.

Of course we could have powered through the drive back to the heartland.  That had been common in years past. But for some reason neither one of us was in a rush to get back to "normal". So we pulled off the highway in the "Laurel Highlands" of Western PA, finding a room at a rather strange off the beaten track lodge with a connected "wildlife park". You can tell things can get weird when there is a diapered baby kangaroo to greet you at the check-in desk.

The rooms here are very woody and rustic, with bent wood head boards.

"Dang, Mistress..... if only we had some rope. I could have fun improvising a switch day for you..."

"I thought you were a boy scout, slave.... don't they come prepared?"

If it was only tights season, I could have improvised with some of Mistress's black tights.

We found a local restaurant which was clearly a "Trump country" gathering spot, and had a cheap, home cooked meal. Mistress was pleased to discover chocolate pudding as part of the salad bar.  Slave couldn't decide whether this was a suitable substitute for blue cheese dressing, so passed.


Before bed time, and Mistress's nightly worship, slave was assigned to sort through the latest group of Ashley Madison suitors. So far there have been no diamonds in the rough that have stepped forward. Instead it seems like the usual group of suburbanites who need to explain why their marriage has become sterile in their first message. Slave knows who to delete and which ones to have Mistress glance at for a second look. But there is no rush. If there is a new "side dish" out there it will come to pass.

In the meantime, Mistress is already wondering if we can't stay here in the PA mountains a little longer.

Foxy Lady

Mistress let me know yesterday that her lover Jay will be joining us for dinner tonight.  It's up to me to plan a proper meal. Something nourishing and tasty, but not so filling that it would unduly weigh down the two love birds should they choose to enjoy a private night cap in Mistress's executive suite.

Will this be a sleepover that relegates slave to our daughter's room for the night?  Not sure. Mistress has a very early meeting on Thursday morning that might compromise plans for Jay to share her bed through the night.  But then..... tune in tomorrow and I will provide the sordid details.

But here's something I noted yesterday in the media that's worth sharing.

We've all followed the sad plight of the ladies of Fox News. Who would think that a network that treats their on-air female talking heads as "eye candy" , with a special leg cam to go with their "no pants" rule. I'm not a big fan of FOX, but wasn't it obvious to anyone that the modus operandi at FOX was to show off the gams and not the brains of their female on-air personalities?

So is it hard to believe that after much high priced internal investigating that their former poo-bah Roger Ailes had a habit of shaking down his ladies for sexual favors?

I think we've seen this movie, haven't we?

But yesterday it got a little better for those of you with a kink proclivity.

When a sexual harassment claim draws blood, it's not unusual for other potential claimants to come forward. Is it because the new accusers  were previously intimidated by "the man" to speak up? Or is it just piling on and hoping to get a quick, copy-cat  pay-day?

Ao it came as no surprise that a new accuser popped up this week. A certain Andrea Tantaros. Not exactly a household name.  But she now claims she was one of those ladies from the Fox stable of right wing scolds who claims that  she was asked to "do the twirl" for Roger. As a consequence of her refusal, she was relegated to the back bench, and found fewer and fewer opportunities to opine on-air that there  may be a radical Muslim sleeper cell residing in the White House.  Ultimately, she was off the air all together.

But the Fox News spokesman has a different spin. That story is that sweet Andrea was taken off the air not because of her failure to succumb to the Boss's prurient importunings; but because she refused to have her book cover approved by the Network. As a hot young Fox personality might be expected to do, Andrea wrote a book explaining why feminism was really a terrible  deal for women. The title:"Tied Up In Knots. How Getting What We Want Made Women Miserable".  

Considering the title, it was only natural that the cover have a bondage theme, right?

So was Andrea booted off the air because she would not play Princess Leah to Roger's Jabba?  Or was it because she had the bad taste to hawk her books with a kinky cover?

After this fair and balanced presentation of the facts, I will let my readers make the call.

Meanwhile, I have some menu planning to do.

Re-Run Season

Mistress and slave continue to enjoy the sun and seclusion of our SW hideaway, trying our best to fend off work tasks to make room for bracing morning sex, strenuous bike rides and lazy late afternoon naps when the late afternoon "monsoon" clouds gather for a cooling momentary downpour.

But today's entry arises from a task I undertook over the weekend to find some photos of my recently deceased mother. What surprised me as I scrolled through what are probably several thousands of photos accumulated over the last 8 years on my computer was how many photos in there feature semi-risque shots of Mistress. Many of those have been posted here over the years. Others were "outtakes", or maybe shots taken for slave's lovers and texted to them by me as a little visual aphrodisiac.   Some of the shots are somewhat repetitive. Example:  How many different ways are there to capture Mistress while sunbathing nude?


But as I go back further in the chronolgy, I have to say I kind of miss the days when you could catch Mistress in stockings, about to wield her riding crop on her slave based on some trumped up charge:



I was also reminded about how one's knees feel in high altitude skree  when groveling to serve Mistress's clean shaven folds at 13,000 feet:



I also realized that I've been negligent in exercising my switch day privileges as in days of yore:



And also thought about a trip to the local hot springs before we head back on Saturday to River City:



Hope you didn't mind this trip down memory lane. After all, isn't summer still re-run season?

Regrets, I Have a Few.

I guess I should have a clock that counts up the hours I've not heard from Mistress. It's been at least 60 now. A Slave without his Mistress to guide him is pretty pathetic isn't it?  So I've continued to follow the orders she left behind. Di you think she'd mind if I imposed an abstinence day?  Or should the daily self-abuse continue because that's what she ordered?  Maybe that's the best way to break a masturbation habit.... make him do it so it gets kind of boring?

I guess we could ask the WC to chime in on that.... he's the guy who buys the lube by the barrel.

In any event, what are my regrets?

One is not exercising my switch day privileges often enough. I mean here it is. A  Sunday. And I've no one to tie up and tease to a few orgasms!

Instead I am going to take a walk on the wild side and re-stucco one of our parapets, which has shed some of its skin over the winter due to all that wind and snow and sun.

Depending on how well it goes, I could have a new profession lined up.

On Campus Kink

Things are pretty lonely here at the UCTMW World HQ with Mistress on her long journey. Slave keeps waking up, reaching unconsciously for her delicious body, and coming up with one of those too many pillows she has used to cover our bed. (It's a babe thing?)

Pathetic, I know.

I've followed her protocol.

A daily "milking" to keep me "out of trouble". And a cock shot sent via snapchat to keep down on all those cock pics replicating themselves on our Apple photo apps.  We still have images of the WC's special occasion cock popping up from time to time!

When she called yesterday, Mistress seemed pleased with waking up to an image of my "angry" cock longing for the real thing.

"It made me horny, Slave."

I forgot to ask if any of the guys she has encountered have been flirting.  Contemplating Mistress finding a quiet spot below deck from some late night mischief is something to fuel those morning milkings, I suppose.

In her absence I've decided to sort through and post some flash back photos to stimulate all of our imaginations. This is a pic from one of our "Switch Sundays". 

But today's blog focuses on  the recent controversy at Northwestern University,  fueled by an article by NW Prof Laura Kipnis, " Sexual Paranoia Strikes Academe, in which the lady professor takes on the notion that every relationship between a faculty member and a female student necessarily amounts to ab abuse of power, or even rape. 

When I was in college, hooking up with professors was more or less part of the curriculum. Admittedly, I went to an art school, and mine was the lucky generation that came of age in that too-brief interregnum after the sexual revolution and before AIDS turned sex into a crime scene replete with perpetrators and victims—back when sex, even when not so great or when people got their feelings hurt, fell under the category of life experience. It’s not that I didn’t make my share of mistakes, or act stupidly and inchoately, but it was embarrassing, not traumatizing.

As Jane Gallop recalls in Feminist Accused of Sexual Harassment (1997), her own generational cri de coeur, sleeping with professors made her feel cocky, not taken advantage of. She admits to seducing more than one of them as a grad student—she wanted to see them naked, she says, as like other men. Lots of smart, ambitious women were doing the same thing, according to her, because it was a way to experience your own power.

But somehow power seemed a lot less powerful back then. The gulf between students and faculty wasn’t a shark-filled moat; a misstep wasn’t fatal. We partied together, drank and got high together, slept together. The teachers may have been older and more accomplished, but you didn’t feel they could take advantage of you because of it. How would they?

Obviously, times have changed. Professor Kipnis even found herself in her own Title IX Inquisition when female anti-harassment student activists  accused her of "retaliating" against them simply by publishing an article that disagreed with their point of view.

This got Mistress and Slave talking the other night about a story she had shared a long time ago.

"Didn't you have sex with one of your profs in college, Mistress."

"I did Slave...."

We reviewed the details. She was about 19 or 20. It was Sophomore year on her small liberal arts college in the heartland. He was about 33 or so - the same age difference between me and Mistress - married with kids at home.

Their fling was sparked - or accommodated - by late nights in the offices of the student newspaper that Mistress edited. 

"I suppose it began with him looking over my shoulder at one of those old lay-out screens. Rubbing my shoulders...."

Hmmm..... not unlike the scenario of the young Mistress and the older political activist in the campaign headquarters of that short Greek guy running for President in 1988.

"So where did you do it with him, Mistress...."

"Ohh..... the newspaper office. Or his faculty office. It was a small town, and a small campus.  We had to be very careful."

"So did you feel exploited, Mistress?"

She snickered. 

"No Slave.... it was hot. But a little strange when I had classes with him, and I had a few."

"Did you get good grades?"

"I suppose I did.  But no better than the grades I got in other classes."

Sounds Like Mistress would be on the same page as Professor Kipnis. Maybe I'd feel different about my own daughters doing it with their professors, but I suppose Mistress's Mom would not have been amused had she known the messy details. But then who wants to know all the details about our kids personal lives once they pass 18?

As for Slave, I can't say I would have complained if a lady prof had hit on me. Sadly, the only "flirty" behavior I can recall from my academic career involved a Math teaching nun in high school. But it was all smiles and solicitous small talk.  Sister Roberta never offered to show me what was hidden beneath that black habit.

 

Media in Praise of Slave's "Dad Bod" Paunch

Our readers will be happy to hear that Mistress and her devoted slave enjoyed a robust "switch day" on Sunday morning.  Mistress found herself bound to our bed, her hands lovingly captured by our red leather cuffs, and stretched overhead.

Lying on her tummy, she could only "protest" as our brand new and shiny Hitachi was deployed betwixt her thighs. (Terri- in response to your question - it's the same old model with a glossier finish - only two speeds, and Mistress prefers the slower speed). It did not take long for her to beg for permission to cum, and slave, as usual, was very indulgent.  Once the power tool was discarded, and Mistress calmed down a bit, I tossed on a bonus cum with my fingers before "taking my reward".

It was the sort of Sunday morning that may be hard to replicate in the weeks to come, as our girls re-infest their nest.  Hopefully that will be only for a few months, or we may have to call Orkin!

But the real subject of today's blog is an article that popped up in the Washington Post yesterday, (I have a Dad Bod. Here's Why Women Love It) reporting that the latest internet mime is recognition that babes actually prefer the "dad bod" to the more traditional six pack ab, chiseled look that the advertisers have stereo-typed.  The author attributes this change to women (at least in the developed world) discarding some of the evolutionary preferences for the more "macho" defenders of their tidy and secure cave:

 Primordial women needed brutes who could slaughter wild beasts for food and stiff-arm competing tribes that wanted to kill their offspring. More recently, our great-grandmothers needed partners who could toil in factories, plow fields and protect the home from intruders.

But today, more people are working in offices instead of farms and factories. And women themselves are working — often more efficiently than their male colleagues. That independence means they can pay people to move their furniture and protect their homes, or do it themselves. A lot has been written about this deconstruction of gender roles and “the end of men.” But the truth is, women do still need men — they just don’t need the macho ones.

Instead, many women are looking for guys who have good careers, love kids, and offer a soft tummy to lay on after a long day of working harder than us — all things that dad bods promise. Tight torsos and thick biceps are too busy at the gym to own businesses and keep the kitchen clean. To put it another way, a dad bod isn’t attractive because of what it looks like, but because what it says.

And what is that, you ask?

A dad bod says I have a job, responsibilities and enough money to nod approvingly when someone says “guacamole is extra.”

A dad bod owns a suit, makes car payments on a fuel-efficient vehicle and applies tasteful amounts of cologne before heading out the door. Send him a YouTube compilation of puppies doing cute stuff and afterward he’ll happily discuss which cute stuff was his favorite cute stuff.

Make love to a dad bod and afterward a dad bod will make waffles for your belly.



Well, Slave doesn't make waffles.

Mistress has that whole "gluten-free" thing going on. 


But I can whip up a nice risotto or gnocchi after a hard day at the office. And while I'm not completely gone to seed - I do ride that bike to work whenever I can - I have some generous padding for Mistress to lounge against when we watch "Mad Men" or "Homeland" on our comfy couch.

I might add that Jay, despite his talents as a golfer and a more athletic lover, has a "Dad Bod" too.  SO I think Mistress clearly is in the thick of it when it comes to this new trend.

The one thing this guy is missing though: What about the women who prefer their Dad Bod's to wear a cock cage when they're out for the night with their lover?

Facebook Flashbacks

Mistress and Slave have been enjoying our week away, and are bummed that it is coming to an end. There has been ample sunshine, lots of skiing on uncrowded slopes, late afternoon naps, stunning sunsets, dinners with friends, and several cozynights at home in front of the fire place.

And of course two-a-day sex-capading here in our little SW hideaway.

Unfortunately, Mistress has no "side-dish" here in the shadows of the Sangre de Christo mountains to entertain her, but she has been in touch with her lover Jay, and a certain friend from the distant past.

A few weeks back we referenced here the phenomenon of spouses using Facebook or other social media to reconnect with old Beaus or otherwise line up "back-up" lovers, keeping them on simmer with on-line flirtation, just  in case their spouse or primary lover drift  comes up lame.

What's wrong with a back-up plan? Particularly if you have the right to cuckold your hubby.

Mistress mentioned the other day on the ski lift that she'd been hearing in the last few days from an old college boyfriend - we'll call him Jeff -- who had been turning up the volume on his semi-frequent facebook flirts.

"He keeps saying he's going to fly his plane up from North Carolina to take me out to dinner Slave....."

"Well that's your option, Mistress...."

As we talked about their history, I realized that this was the guy she had mentioned with a predilection for bondage.

"Is he the guy who liked to tie you up, Mistress?"

"He was, Slave....."

I pressed for more details, and it turned out it was not one of those "try anything once" sorts of things. They apparently dated for a year or so, with Mistress dumping at least for a while her "home town honey" to pursue this relationship.  And bondage was part of the regular mix.

"I can remember us doing it in hotel rooms slave..... he used fabric, not handcuffs, to tie me to the bed...."

So there was Mistress.. Just a very hot and nubile 20 year old. And getting tied to the bed and being fucked.  Now that was one lucky, and persuasive frat boy.

"Did he make you come that way Mistress?"

'What do you think, Slave?"

As you might imagine, there was some rather explosive post-nap sex here at the SW hideaway yesterday afternoon as Slave attempted to de-brief Mistress further on these never before fully disclosed college capers.